


Beauty Before the Flames

by UglyWettieWrites



Category: Spies of Warsaw (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Childhood Friends, Cunnilingus, Drama & Romance, Erotica, F/M, Making Love, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Romantic Friendship, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-07 02:37:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20302060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UglyWettieWrites/pseuds/UglyWettieWrites
Summary: Jean-François has retired to his country estate for a long-needed respite from his life, but he can't seem to settle into the peace around him.During a leisurely hunt in the woods, he finds an old friend from his childhood who reminds him of much happier times, before he is who he was forced to become in the fires of battle.





	Beauty Before the Flames

The early afternoon was gilded.

It had been far too long since he visited the country. The fresh grass crunched underneath his well-worn boots, and there was just enough chill in the air to make his fingertips ache on the trigger of his shotgun.

He sighed, and stared up the almost garish blue of the sky from the canopy of browning leaves. His lips pursed ever so slightly. He felt odd. Empty, but the kind of emptiness that was felt after being almost painfully full. He stopped walking, and stared harder at the sky. He wanted nothing more than to be full again. Even if it hurt. His dalliances for work and for play did precious little to fill the aching hole in his heart-

His spaniel shot off from his side and deeper into the woods.

“Bijou! Viens ici!” he yelled firmly, but she did not come running back. It was so strange - the old girl didn’t get excited too often anymore, but she was barking up a storm, somewhere ahead. Although fall was slowly advancing her foothold on the vegetation, it was still too thick to see far ahead.

“Qu’est-ce que c’est, petite?” he said, raising his shotgun. _What is it, girl?_ Perhaps she had found a fat rabbit. His belly growled, and he smiled as he walked slowly, quietly, to where the pup rustled the leaves with her enthusiasm. His finger squeezed the trigger as he entered the clearing.

And the gun nearly went off in his shock.

“Viva!” he said. The gun slid from his grip.

Bijou bounded around her, excited to see someone familiar.

“Jean,” she said, smiling broadly and extending her arms for a hug. He ran forward and took her into his arms, lifting her off her feet.

“Where the devil have you been?!” he said into her neck. Despite the years, she still used the same delicate violet eau de toilette that he remembered from their youth. He took a deep breath and squeezed tighter.

“You’ll squeeze the life outta me if you keep going,” she said in perfect English. He put her down.

“Let me take a proper look at you,” he replied in English, cupping her elbows. Her once long, curly dark hair was styled into a fashionable bob, and the roundness of youth was gone from her face. Her more pronounced cheekbones were flush with the chill, and her gray eyes gleamed with excitement. She didn’t have any powder or lipstick on. It was nostalgic. Her beauty made him rock back on his heels. He let her go. “You look well.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Is that all you have to say after a bloody decade? You look well?” she said, pushing him gently. “It’s been an age. Eons. We’ve died and been reincarnated 10 times over. And all he says is I look well,” she said, slapping at him playfully.

“You’re … you say we haven’t seen each other in a decade, but whose fault is that?” he said, still smiling wide. “You didn’t write, and I didn’t know where to send the letters.”

She looked down at the ground, where Bijou laid at her feet. She crouched to pet her, and the dog licked her fingers affectionately.

“Wow, she’s got a really, really good memory,” Viva said. I haven’t seen her since she was a puppy, yet she’s licking my knuckles like we’re old friends.”

“She likes you, and that’s more than I can say for just about any other human than me,” Jean-François said, picking up his shotgun and tucking it under his arm. Viva looked up at him and winked.

“I guess I have that effect on people,” she said, and rose.

“You’re lucky I didn’t shoot you. I thought you were a tasty rabbit,” he said good-naturedly.

“I’m sorry to disappoint,” she said, and looked over her shoulder, where her family’s lands lay.

“You must come over for a coffee. We have to catch up,” he said, smiling.

“Mama and papa are back at the house. I told them I’d only be out for an hour or so. They’ll worry.”

He gave her a curious look. She wasn’t usually so concerned about such things in her youth. How time changes people.

“I’ll send Fernand over with a choice bottle and a promise of a proper visit later,” he said breezily as he walked back toward the house.

“You’re so genteel,” she said, following him.

“I come from good stock, or so I’ve been told,” he said, stopping to assist her over a fallen tree.

“Stop it! It’s me,” she said, lifting her skirt and nimbly vaulting the tree trunk.

“Oh, I remember,” he said, giving her a soft look as she walked quickly in front of him, sure of her path. How many times had she shown up miraculously just as soon as she heard his family were at the house, with leaves tangled in her hair and mud on her slippers? At the time, she had both irritated and delighted him. But, as they got to know each other, the scales had slowly tipped to affection. She wasn’t like the diffident girls he was forced to consort with in the city. They bored him to tears, even though he knew that they were carefully groomed into the blushing shyness that he found so stultifying. He would crack jokes and try to bring them out of themselves, but as he got older, he understood that pushing them into some revealing moment was just as improper as trying to touch their knee, or brushing his knuckles against the promising mounds on their chests.

He knew, but it didn’t stop him from wanting more.

They broke into the well-manicured clearing where the old house stood.

“Fernand!” she yelled. “Where are you, old friend?”

The older man rose quickly from a slumbering bank of roses. “Aviva! Sweet girl!” he said in accented French, and ran to her. She hugged and kissed him.

“Be careful, ma belle, or you’ll make me swoon,” he said, cupping her face in his hands. “Look how you’ve grown. You’re a stunning woman now,” he said, shaking his head. He picked a pine needle from her curls. “Yet not everything has changed.”

“Fernand. Please go inside, pick out a nice red from the rack in the kitchen and tell Viva’s parents that she’ll be dining with me here,” he said.

Viva pouted. “We’ve barely gotten re-acquainted, and you want to send him away,” she said.

“Will you be back for long, petite?” Fernand said.

“We’ll be here for a bit,” she said, but she looked out in the direction of her house again. When she looked back at him, she smiled broadly. “I’ll come again and help you weed the gardens, like old times.”

“You’ll likely talk his ears off, like old times,” Jean-François said.

“I’ll gladly go deaf,” Fernand said, and walked into the house for the wine.

“It’s so lovely to see him,” she said. “I can’t believe he’s still knocking about as your caretaker.”

“Oh, he’s way more than a caretaker. You know it well,” Jean-François said, looking at her. She nodded. He walked back out and waved at them.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll be retiring for the evening after I drop this off,” he said.

“Of course. I’ll see you in the morning,” Jean-François said.

“Goodbye, old man,” she said, blowing him a kiss.

“I’ve still got some life in me yet, petite,” he said, and disappeared into the woods.

He placed his hand gallantly near the small of her back. “Shall we go inside?”

“Ooh. That good breedings just coming’ out your ears, Jean,” she said, and winked at him.

“You are maddening, woman!” he said, shaking his head. She giggled and ran inside.

* * *

He tried to help her with her coat, but she tugged it off and unceremoniously dropped it on the sofa.

“I can’t believe it. Almost nothing has changed,” she said, walking around the den. Even this old thing,” she said, shoving her face into the large brass horn of a gramophone. “I haven’t seen one of these in ages.”

“Now, it’s a bit of an antique, so I’m loathe to get rid of it,” he said. “The radio’s over there.” He pointed at a beautifully tooled oak console underneath the window. She didn’t take her eyes off the gramophone.

“Do you still have the records?” she said, tracing at the graceful curves on the horn.

“Bien sûr. They’re in the cabinet underneath it,” he said, getting on his knees to show her. She put her hand on his shoulder.

“You promised me a drink, Jean.” His eyes settled on her waist, and rose to her breasts, then up to meet her gaze. “You haven’t changed a bit,” she said, giving him a crooked grin. “But remember, that aristocrat Lothario stuff doesn’t work on me.”

He rose and brushed off his trousers. “I promised you a hot cup of coffee. And there is no Lothario thing,” he said, walking to the kitchen. “I was a happily married man for many years.”

She leaned against the threshold of the kitchen as he opened a bottle of wine.

“I’m so sorry about your loss. By the time news got to me that she had passed, it was horrifically late,” she said.

“I still cherished the letter,” he said, nodding. “It wasn’t your fault. You were half a world away.”

“Still,” she said, walking to him and plucking the wine cork from his hand and hugging him. “I know you loved her well, and it broke my heart to hear of her death.”

He rubbed her back, and gently pressed his lips to the top of her head. “It’s been a while, but sometimes, I still miss her. In my bones.”

She looked up at him, her eyes liquid with sympathy. “I know. Intimately.” He caressed her, but she walked away and sat down at the kitchen table.

“It’s so strange. One minute, I’m nearly drowning in love, and the next, he’s gone. Taken from me, fighting a war I barely understood,” she said. Her brow furrowed with old sorrow. “We only had a year before he had to go be a hero. We barely had any time to-“she pressed her hand on her flat belly. “By the way, how’s your girl?”

His chest burned with memory. “Hardly a girl any longer. She’s very happily engaged with a clever radio engineer in Paris,” he said.

“That’s nice. Not a soldier.”

He winced. She looked up at him. “Jean,” she said. A tear spilled from the corner of her eye and left a shining path to her chin. “It’s going to happen again, isn’t it?” She took his hand, squeezed it hard enough to make his bones click. “It’s happening again.” It was a whisper.

He pulled her into a hug. She sniffled at the crook of his neck, and he realized she trembled. When he looked down on her, he saw an unfamiliar look in her eye that made his stomach drop.

Fear.

“What is it, Viv?” he said, using the nickname he had for her when they were still children.

Her lips trembled and her hands turned to fists on his chest, but she shook the worry from her face and smiled.

“Can we hear that record we used to practice to?” she said. He wiped the tear trails from her cheeks, but his thumbs lingered, caressing. Her skin was soft as velvet. “No more talk of death. And pour the wine, will you?” She walked back to the den, where the afternoon sun shone on the polished woodblock.

He poured two glasses and handed them to her as he rummaged in the cabinet.

“You’ll find that Viennese waltzes are not de rigueur in the city these days,” he said, holding up the dusty platter.

“And you’ll find, colonel,” she said, making a face, “that I don’t give a damn what’s de rigueur or not,” she said, snatching up the record and blowing the dust off. She put it on the gramophone and wound it up. Strauss slowly filled the room, and she leaned against the side table, sipping her wine. A nostalgic smile played on her lips, lighting up her face. He stared unabashedly. It’s so strange how distance and memory can warp and fade things that were once so real to him. He hadn’t seen in her so long that he forgot how beautiful she is. It felt like he was seeing her for the first time, again. A pleasant frisson made the hairs on his arms stand on end.

“In the city, Viennese waltzes are quietly banned,” he said, tracing the lip of his untouched glass of wine.

“It’s not Strauss’ fault that certain people are mad assholes who have inexplicably come into power,” she said. “Why ban something that has nothing to do with something else?” she said, drinking deep, and kicking off her shoes. He smiled and shook his head. She was right, and if she could dismiss it, why shouldn’t he?

“Would you care for a dance, mademoiselle?” he said, extending his hand.

“I thought you’d never ask, colonel,” she said, folding into his arms gracefully. They started to circle the room to the music. Her smile widened, and she seemed to float against him.

“You’re way better than I remember,” he said, pleasantly surprised.

“When was the last time we danced, Jean?” she said.

“Hmmmm. Before the war. You hadn’t met Olivier yet,” he said.

“But you were newly engaged,” she said, looking up wistfully at him. “And definitely not a colonel.”

“No,” he said. They danced through the golden bars of light that sifted in through the curtains on the western-facing windows. Her grey eyes went green when she was happy, and they were like sunlit leaves then. He forgot that as well. The way her eyes made his knees weak.

“Well, you’re a hero now,” she said. Her hand moved from his shoulder to his neck, and gripped him in a way that made his heart beat faster. “Don’t think that will impress me.”

“Sadly, I didn’t do what I did to impress beautiful women,” he said, leaning into her as they spun slower around the den. “But I find it has helped. Immensely.” He gave her an intimate grin.

“You were always such a flirt,” she said again, shaking her head. “You never needed the brass and silk to turn a girl’s head.”

“And yet, I had dreadful luck with you,” he said. Her smile blinked on and off. They stopped moving.

“How do you mean?” she said, taking another sip of wine. “We’re dear friends. We grew up together. You used to call me ‘your cross to bear’.”

“When I was 12, and you would come here, throwing pebbles on the window to call me out to play. It never occurred to you that I might be a bit old for games?”

She rolled her eyes. “You had spots, and your mama still made you wear short pants,” she said, shrugging. “Admit it. You loved running in the woods, playing Robinson Crusoe with me.”

He snorted, then laughed out loud. “You are incorrigible!”

“I’m truthful. And the truth is, you were terribly bored, and in your heart, you needed a person like me to take you out of your fusty, dull existence,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “Best part, is your parents never complained.”

“They didn’t see any danger in us playing together. We were from different worlds. To them, it was like me forging a friendship with Fernand’s boy.”

She shrugged it off, since she knew it was the truth. Regardless of her parent’s well-off farmer status, they were miles away from the aristocracy. Millions of miles, due to their bloodline, and their belief system. His dearly departed wife had been from one of the good families in the city, and their partnership had made complete sense to her. Of course he would marry and have children with a lady such as her.

“Anyway, it didn’t feel that way to me,” he finished, and finally sipped the wine.

She smiled at him. “So much for being your cross to bear,” she said.

“It didn’t feel anything like that on that night,” he said. “You looked …” he sighed. “...like a princess. In fact, I’ve seen a few princesses, and you outshone them all.”

“Always so charming, Jean,” she said, and touched his cheek sadly. “But I noticed you said looked, not _look_. I’m not looking so royal these days, am I? Life will do that to you.”

“You know what I mean,” he said. “You broke my heart.”

“I did not,” she said, used to his speech. “You were already promised to someone else. And you two deserved each other. She was delicate and lovely – golden - and you were so handsome in your new uniform-”

“I grew to love her. Deeply. That is true,” he said. “But you know better than to speak of deserving or not. It’s cruel, even now.”

The record popped, and the waltz started again.

“To whom? To me? It’s just the truth, Jean,” she said, draining her glass. “You went off to be a hero, and I married, widowed, and moved on. That’s how it went.”

“I went off to fight a war, alone and scared, and I wrote you, my oldest friend, and you didn’t write back,” he said.

“You, scared? You were an officer in a song, what’s to be frightened of? Did you ever eat mud in a trench? I don’t think so.”

He winced at her frankness. “Your husband’s passing … it’s unfortunate. I’m so sorry,” he said, touching her shoulder.

“It was an aristocratic colonel like you that relegated him into the filth until he died miserably of typhus in some waterlogged tent,” she said, hugging herself. “They didn’t even give him the opportunity to have a proper hero’s death.”

He frowned.

“What is a proper hero’s death, in your estimation, Viv? Shot out of the sky to die, trapped and burned alive in agony? Burst into pieces by a mortar? Riddled with bullets, and slowly bleeding into the mud as your friends watch in horror? Tell me,” he said.

She looked away, shaking her head.

“When those who never had to shoot a gun at a human being cry _hero!_ they can’t begin to fathom how painfully insulting it is,” he said. “When, as an officer, you have to make a decision that might kill 10 men to save 1000, it’s downright galling to see their saccharine smiles as they pin cold metal to your chest. You tell me now, Aviva. Am I a hero?”

She sniffled, but remained quite.

“Despite all the romantic novels and stories, there is no such thing as a hero’s death. I know for a fact that the men who died beside me on the battlefield would’ve preferred to die of old age, warm in their beds, with no scars or memories of the horrors of war.”

She sighed, deflated. “It’s going to happen again,” she repeated. She gave him a bruised look. He looked down at her bare feet. She wasn’t wearing stockings, and her feet looked red with the cold. He walked to the corner of the room and lit a fire. The sun was low in the sky, and the light had gone from pale to burnished gold.

“I’m sorry, Jean,” she said softly, after a while. “My temper is still appalling, and you did nothing to deserve the outburst.”

“All is forgiven. I know I’m a bourgeois git,” he said. She frowned in surprise. “I know the talk.”

“You may be bourgeois, but you are the furthest from a git than anyone I know,” she said, getting close to the fire. “You’re a fine man, Jean-François.”

He looked up at her curiously. She never said his full name.“Is that why you left me waiting that night? Because of my upbringing?”

“You’ll find it’s far more complex than that. But I hope you’ll forgive me for that too, and maybe see it as wisdom now-“

“Wisdom how?” he interrupted. He stood and faced her. “I offered to take you away. To be with me, convention be damned. You were more than worth-“

She put her hand over his mouth. “It was the foolishness of youth. You were confused, and maybe scared about the war, and perhaps your upcoming responsibilities as a husband. I was familiar, that is all. You found your happiness soon enough after, didn’t you?”

“You disappeared. For years. Not even your parents could provide an address where my letters could reach you. And you never tried to reach me, tell me you were alive and well-“

“You know I can take care of myself,” she said. “And in any case, you were busy with a lovely wife and a daughter. What need did you have to read any wacky tale from my end of the world,” she said, smiling at him.

“Wacky? I thought you were a shop girl in New York,” he said, confused. He couldn’t really imagine his Viv serving posh women in the big city, but he figured she did what she had to do to get away from France, and her sorrow.

“That’s what I said,” she said, biting her lower lip and giving him a conspiratorial grin. “I wasn’t even close to being a fusty shop girl. But it sounds proper, doesn’t it?”

Mirth made his cheeks twitch. “What were you getting into?” he said.

She shrugged and wiggled her toes near the fire. “Well, you know how it was very illegal to procure drink in the US in the last decade?” she said. She inspected her lacquered nails casually.

“Yes,” he said slowly.

She sucked her lip. “Let’s just say that, if you gave me corn, or wheat, or even apples, I can make a liquor that will knock you on your ass,” she said. He gasped. She winked. “A woman’s got to make her way somehow.”

“No,” he said.

“Yes, but as you know, everything went bust and people were too afraid to starve to worry about Prohibition, so I had to think of a new angle. So, I joined the circus.”

“What?” he said. He looked her up and down incredulously. “What did you do in a circus?”

“Do you remember how easily I could climb any tree in the wood when we were children?”

“Yes,” he said. She could scramble easily up the most scraggly, unforgiving tree and then swing down, bough to bough, seemingly without any effort. What he remembered the most was being able to clearly see up her skirt and at delicate, sheer cloth and tender flesh. His cheeks warmed.

“I used that talent to earn my bread,” she said. “The owner, Vincenzo, trained me to be a bona fide trapeze artist,” she said, and to his delight, flipped backwards gracefully and raised her arms high. “See?”

He sat down hard. He didn’t know whether he was scandalized or absolutely enchanted. She grabbed the bottle of wine and poured them both another glass.

“You’re not lying, are you?” he said.

“I’ve never lied to you,” she said. “You want to see me walk on my hands? Not too long ago, I could do it on a tight rope, 15 meters off the ground,” she said, putting down her glass and wiping her hands.

“No! No, Viva,” he said, shaking his head. He sighed, then wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tight. “Sweet girl.”

“What?” she said, disentangling herself and looking up at his worried face. She didn’t understand.

“You were … all alone, with circus people in a country ravaged by poverty,” he said. He cupped her face in his hands. “Surrounded by rough people.”

“No rougher than me,” she said defensively. “I wasn’t raised to be a porcelain doll, like your kind,” she said. “After Olivier died, I figured I did my duty as the doting wife. I had a friend who said there was peace and opportunity in the States, and I took him up on his offer. I don’t regret a thing.” Yet, she squirmed with discomfort at his sympathetic gaze.

“You accepted his offer, and not mine,” he said.

“He wasn’t a fancy mucky muck like you,” she said.

“What does that even mean?” Jean-François asked, unfamiliar with the slang.

“He was just a regular fellow. A war survivor. And jewish, like me.”

He felt a flare of indignation. “You know, being an aristocrat means bugger all nowadays,” he said. “You don’t have to keep reminding me.”

She gave him a surprised look. He rarely cursed.

“I didn’t mean to make it sound bad,” she said. “And I couldn’t have accepted your offer. Not before the war. You have to know that, right?”

“You were uncared for, in a strange country, unloved …”

“Don’t assume that,” she said, giving him a fathomless look. “I was a widow, yes. But I wasn’t dead. It was the wild west out there.” She bit her lip. “I didn’t lack for lovers.”

He pulled her onto the sofa. “I didn’t mean that. I mean a protector. A man who loves you.”

“I had plenty of those,” she said lightly. “Your roots are showing. I don’t need a knight in shining armor.”

“Perhaps not. But you deserved one,” he said, rising to turn off the gramophone.

“I’m not some great lady. I wouldn’t know what to do with one,” she said. She popped up again, and, to his shock, began to unbutton her dress. He was planted in place as she threw the red frock aside to expose a very brief pair of satin knickers and a black lace bra underneath a fawn-brown slip. “You’ll have to excuse the mismatched lingerie. I wasn’t planning to do a show. Do you want to see my old routine?” She started to stretch, gleaming and semi-nude in his den, and he found it hard to breath. She looked so comfortable in her scanties that he felt a twinge of guilt at his arousal. Before now, he only saw hints of her coveted flesh – a flash of inner thigh, the briefest glimpse of tender cleavage, damp hair and rose pearl - and he had kept those images tucked away in his mind, even during the war. He had made love to other women, including his future wife, but still, Viva’s bold glimpses inflamed him more than full nudity did.

And he confessed it to her. And, like she did now, she laughed it off.

“Alright, this might not go off without a hitch since it’s been a while since I’ve practiced-“ she vaulted quickly across the room, backflipping four times and ending by standing on her hands, legs parted gracefully to keep her balance. She bounced carefully on her hands, and one of her feet tipped to the floor. “Oop - told you -“ she pushed herself back into place, and did a full split, her spine curved into an improbable question mark. Her long legs quivered a bit, and her buttocks flexed with the effort underneath the satin. It was positively erotic.

Before he could say anything, she stood up and bent over backwards, one leg stretched straight up. He stared at the bouncing muscles in her inner thighs, and his mouth watered at a glimpse of the luscious shadow of her pubic hair. She carefully stood on her hands again, breathed deep, and moved carefully toward him, her legs stretched apart above her. He smiled as she neared him, and her bare feet rested on his chest for a few seconds before she bounced up, her hands on her waist.

“Ta-da!” she said, smiling and panting lightly. “Now you know for sure it wasn’t a story-“

He shot forward, took her in his arms and kissed her, hard. She whimpered into his mouth, then melted against him, bested. He pulled away and looked at her.

“I didn’t do that to seduce you,” she said, and her gaze was surprisingly innocent.

“I’ve wanted to do that for while, and you know it,” he said, running his fingers through her hair. Her pin curls sprang free and gathered around her face. Bobby pins clicked on the woodblock. He sighed. She was the wild girl he loved desperately, before the war. And now, finally, after 20 years, she was in his arms again.

“Maybe I should go home,” she said, but she didn’t extricate herself from his arms.

“We’re not children, stealing kisses behind trees in the woods, little one. Not any more,” he said. “There’s nothing to fear.”

She smiled at the memory. What had started as a silly game of what had changed during the winter had turned to keen passion. They were young, and no one spoke to them of what was right and proper to do with the opposite sex yet. But they had figured themselves out, regardless.

“It was all a bit of silliness, really,” she said, but her hand went underneath his sweater to caress the bare skin of his back.

“Was it? Because it was deadly serious to me. You had me spinning, Viva. I adored you,” he said, and kissed her again, pressing his body to hers. He wanted her to feel him, swelling for her, again.

“I was just available, and perhaps a little eager. Nothing more,” she said breathlessly as he kissed her neck, daring to suck at her taut flesh.

“No. You were extraordinary, and you knew it,” he said, and started to unhook her bra. She gasped and took his hand away. “You liked to send me back here, miserable and besotted.”

“That’s why God gave you hands, Jean,” she said, taking a step back. “I learned how to use my own quickly enough.”

He groaned and shook his head. “_Non_.”

“Ouiai,” she said. She kept her back to him as she unhooked her bra slowly. “Sometimes, when our games were particularly good, I had to stuff a stocking in my mouth as I rocked on my hand to stop myself from crying out in my room,” she said, and the bra dropped at her feet. “Those long afternoons were sultry.”

He cursed again underneath his breath. His cock strained against his fly, but he watched as she slowly wiggled out of her panties. He gasped when he saw the birthmark on her buttock. It was one of the few delights he had seen long, long ago. He climaxed countless times envisioning licking it slowly as his fingers slid between her hot, wet folds before he fully knew what his cock was for. And when he did know, his passion only tripled. But she had thwarted his efforts every time, even as her hand worked expertly between his legs. It made his thoughts reel to know that she had been as ardent for him as he was for her, on those hot summer evenings in the woods.

She finished unpinning her hair, and it fell in waves to her shoulders. She turned to look at him over her shoulder. “Ask me again, Jean.”

He knew exactly what she meant. He pressed himself against her and cupped her breasts – firm, and fuller than he remembered - in his palms.

“Let me make love to you, Aviva. I could die at any moment after tonight, and I don’t want to die not having felt what it is like to make you shiver with pleasure.”

She leaned into him and moved one of his hands between her thighs. He sighed at her soaking wetness.

“Such a passionate soldier,” she said, turning and offering her mouth to him. “But that’s not what you said.” She unbuckled his belt and pulled it off, throwing it aside.

“Perhaps not. I promised you undying love then. But, to be completely honest, that’s what I really wanted to say,” he said as she reached into his pants.

“Hello, old friend,” she said as she gripped him. Her brow rose. “Has he gotten bigger?” She stroked him. He let out a whimper. He missed her touch so much it made him tremble.

He reached out to fondle her again, but she stepped back.

“Don’t, little one. You’ll find I’ve learned a lot about love in the interim,” he said, even as she pushed him against the wall. She deftly unbuttoned him until his pants dropped to his knees, then pulled the front of his underwear down to expose him. Her eyes widened.

“You are bigger. And thicker, too,” she said, gripping his wrists as she ground against him. “Sweet, desperate Jean. Why did it take seeing you like this to know you’re truly a man now?”

He quickly grabbed her wrists and turned so she was against the wall. “You were a master at the tease then, ma belle, but I think it’s my turn now.”

She smiled, then darted forward to bite his lip. He chuckled and moved out of the way. He kicked off his pants, then pulled off his sweater and his shirt. Her smile faded as her eyes moved over his body and stopped on his chest.

“What happened?” she said. All bluster left her. Before he could respond, she was in his arms again, kissing the long scar on his side. Her lips were tender, giving him butterfly kisses from his side to his center. It felt so good he got goosebumps.

“War, little one. It’s just a memory now,” he said. His hands moved from her shoulders down the luscious curve of her hips. She looked up at him with unbridled affection and her fingers drew soft circles on his chest.

“I remember when you were smooth and hairless,” she said, then rubbed her lips on his clavicle. “You were all angles then.”

He squeezed her ass. “You were always lovely, but now you’re lush.”

She giggled into his neck. His cock was hard against her belly, but she felt suddenly shy. This wasn’t some deep-country bootlegger or circus rustler. It was dear, sweet Jean, in her arms and eager as he ever was.

“Come to bed with me,” he said softly in her ear.

“There’s a perfectly good sofa right there,” she said, pulling him toward it. He shook his head.

“Not today. No fumbling, no teasing out of the bedroom like a cheap date. I want you in my bed, sweating on my sheets,” he said. His face was filled with a passion so pure she saw traces of the young man still in him.

“Yes,” she said. He picked her up and carried her down the narrow hallway into the master bedroom, which had become spartan with the years as he slowly removed his parent’s belongings. He put her down gently on the crisp white sheets and opened the window to the evening.

“It’ll get cold, Jean,” she said, turning to face him.

“I assure you, it will not,” he said, and crawled into bed and between her legs. He spread her legs wide, and licked from her knee to her inner thigh. His senses reeled. He remembered the first time she let him touch her, and his surprise at the hot dampness at the fork of her legs over her culottes. He had never been told that women became wet when they were aroused, but his body reacted to it. it felt good and right. And her scent and heat were delicious.

“Are you going to stare or touch me, honey?” she said. She parted her lips and rubbed herself slowly, showing him her swollen bud. “You remember this?” she said as she massaged down her slick, plump lips, and her fingers sank between them and into herself. She panted and plucked her nipple with her other hand. She sweat with the heat of his gaze. She moaned and lifted her hand to show him her copious wetness. He was rigid with desire, staring with sleepy eyes as she gently caressed her bud.

“Show me inside,” he said breathlessly, gripping her calves. He was 16 again. The war wasn’t even a rumor. And he was desperately, passionately in love with the wild girl from the woods.

“You’re too demanding,” she said, rolling her hips into her hand. “I show you mine, and you haven’t shown me yours.”

He rose to his knees in front of her and pulled her legs around his hips. Her lovely, strong legs hugged him, but this time, there was no full skirt pooled around her waist, and her knickers weren’t hastily pulled aside, both showing and hiding-

“Please, ma belle, show it to me,” he said, thrusting his hips forward to present his throbbing, hard cock to her. She leaned forward and barely caressed the tip with her pussywet finger. He left a gleaming string of precum on her palm, which she licked off as she looked into his eyes.

“You always tasted so good, Jean,” she said, and parted her netherlips to show him her pink, her clit, and her twitching hole. “Stroke it for me, and I will do the same.”

He leaned back, gripped himself and stroked quickly, his foreskin nearly swallowing the precum-sloppy tip of his cock with each thrust of his hips.

“Ohhhh, darling,” she said, and massaged the ruffled pink of her inner lips. She licked her lips as she watched him thrust desperately into his fist, his tight belly muscles rolling with each movement. He stared at her, his eyes moving from between her legs to her breasts to her eyes and back, his teeth bared in passion. Despite the open window, sweat shone on his brow.

“Perfect,” he groaned, and scooted closer, so his cock was only inches from her pussy. Back then, he was so needy he just needed to feel the hint of her sweet, musky furnace heat to burst. She touched him again, barely massaging the crown of his cock with four slick fingers, then fluttering them underneath, where he was most sensitive.

She always knew what to do. She had watched him, studied him as she knelt in front of him on a bed of pine needles, and carefully gauged his pleasure. But she had never let him touch her, despite their torrid games.

She turned around, arching her back and spreading her knees wide. He whimpered, and his rhythm faltered. He almost missed the skirt around her waist, and the wet silk of her knickers framing heaven. Sparse, wet, fragrant hair parted to tender pink. His lower belly ached with the need to do justice to the memory, and come fruitlessly on the sheets with the thought of what could be making it sweet-

“Will you tease me to madness again and then leave me with nothing?” he said, letting go of his cock and spreading her legs.

“You greedily took what you could and never demanded more,” she said. He leaned over her, ghosting his lips over hers.

“Then I was a boy, and you were my goddess,” he breathed, licking the sweat from over her top lip.

“Was I?” she said, smiling, but the mirth had left her eyes.

“Completely,” he said, lying on top of her and wrapping her legs around him. “You were my joy and my madness. Winters were a decade long without your warmth.”

“You’re a poet,” she said, moving underneath him.

“It’s the truth,” he said, and kissed her neck, taking his time. “I lay in my cold bed in the city, and warmed myself thinking of licking the pollen from your skin,” he said as he moved to her shoulders, then nuzzled her breasts.

“Licking,” she said as he sucked a nipple in his mouth, swirling his tongue on it. His mouth trailed dampness as he moved to her other breast and sucked her nipple taut. “What else-“ she gasped as his hands moved down her sides to grip her hips hard enough to dimple her flesh. He gently tugged one of her nipples with his teeth, and she shivered underneath him.

“Hmmm?” he said into her belly as he moved down her body, still gripping her hips. She panted, and her belly bounced against his questing mouth. He felt her, wet and hot, against his chest. He would bathe in her if he could. He moved back and forth, wetting his chest hair and neck with her. Her musk rose up to him and he grunted. “What else what?”

She responded by grinding against him, whimpering. Her thighs squeezed around his shoulders. She buried her hand in his curly hair and pushed gently. “Lick. There.”

He kissed beneath her belly button, then trailed his tongue down to where her hair started. Her muscles quivered beneath him.

“I never got to taste it, except from your fingers,” he said softly. She raised her head and slid two fingers in his mouth. They were still musky from her, but the taste was far away.

“I thought-“she moaned as his tongue glided against her fingertips rhythmically, licking every last bit of her off- “This. When I touched myself,” she said haltingly as he actually gripped her wrist and swirled his tongue around her fingers slowly, keeping eye contact with her. “Your mouth-“

He let go of her fingers and sucked on her thumb, even as he fondled her with his other hand, barely brushing his knuckles against her swollen folds.

She groaned, and her thighs trembled. His mouth was obscene, and he had never been afraid to use it to full advantage. He knew it. He knew it-

His tongue moved from her hand to her pussy, his lips parted and tongue extended to part her lips. She raised her knees high and held her breath-

He froze, just centimeters from her, and licked his lips slowly.

“Do you want me to?” he said, nuzzling at the damp silk of her inner thigh.

Her lower lip quivered. “You’re so mean.” His chin grazed her folds, making the lower part of his face glossy. “You’ll forgive me. For teasing?” she said. Her eyes were so beautifully soft.

“I adore you for teasing,” he said, and buried his mouth in her folds. His body tensed instantly, and his thoughts fizzed and faded as he tasted her, properly, for the first time. He curled into himself and grunted into her hot flesh, sucking and licking the folds that he had memorized long ago. She cried out and pressed her heels to his shoulder blades, and gripped the iron bed above her head.

“Jean. Jean-‘ she said over and over in a steadily strengthening staccato that made him tremble. His tongue moved to the sucking heat of her opening and he remembered why he was born with a cock. He ground his hips into the bed as he sucked her clit into his mouth. She tensed and let out a wail.

She was furnace hot and spinning. She wanted him. So much it made her burst into tears after that night at the officer’s ball. She was mourning for months, until Olivier took her mind of Jean and her sadness. He knew that they couldn’t be together, yet he had asked her to be with him. He had left it to her to be the sensible person, and say no. She hated it, and her sorrow was tainted by anger for a long time. But seeing him, looking so lost and sad in the woods, had dissolved any resentment she felt. Her dear Jean, but now with worry lines, gray hairs, and a depth to his gaze that had not existed before. Her body quivered with a pleasure beyond the flesh. She had wanted to lie in his bed for so long. To belong there, and to him. There was war and rumors of war, and now the old titles meant close to nothing. Now, she could touch him, and let him touch her the way she ached to do when she was young.

“Make love to me,” she said, and tried to pull him up.

“Am,” he said, sliding two fingers inside her and massaging inside her as he sucked. She hissed and snapped into an arch. She stared at the ceiling with glassy eyes as he reamed into her g-spot and licked her swollen bud. He was nearly done himself, but he needed to feel her unravel for him the way he had for her, so many times.

He stopped licking, and she looked down at him. He smiled with friction-rose lips, and licked her once as his fingers moved rhythmically, firmly, inside her.

“I want you … inside me,” she said, her thighs clamped tight around him.

“I want to lick you up like you did me,” he said, pressing his fingers expertly against her swollen flesh. She moaned. “Do you remember?”

“Yes. yes. yes,” she said, licking her lips and drawing the last _yes_ to a wail.

“You’d drain me and have your fill,” he said, his voice rough with passion. “Before you knew how naughty it was. Before I knew not every women would be so eager,” he said, licking a slow circle around her throbbing bud.

“I want it,” she said, but it was nearly swallowed by a moan as she bucked her hips furiously. “Feed. Me-“

She grunted as she burst, wetting the bottom of his face and the bed. He held her twitching hips down and watching her pleasure, his temples throbbing with fulfilled lust. He sucked on her overheated folds loudly, rubbing his thumb over her clit as he licked every last bit of wetness from her. She was writhing and panting, completely given over. He swirled his tongue in her opening and felt it suck slowly around him with need.

“Jean,” she said again, softly. Her hand was limp in his hair. He rose slowly, and there was also a damp spot on the sheets were he pumped into the mattress in his own pleasure. But he wasn’t done.

She reached out to him, pulled him into her arms,and kissed his breath away. He didn’t notice until she moaned in his mouth that he was inside her, he was so engrossed in her embrace. She moved quick underneath him, her grip biting into his hips. He broke the kiss and grabbed her hands, putting his whole weight on her to still her.

“There’s no hurry,” he said, kissing her damp temple.

“Yes,” she said. “I waited long enough-“ she sighed as he slid inside her, slowly.

“You sent – me away,” he said as he began his deep, rolling thrust. Her heat made fresh sweat bead on his brow.

“I wanted you,” she said, caressing down his back and gripping where his hips rolled between her legs. “Thought of you-”

He kissed her silent, gripping her shoulders and thrusting faster. Her trembling arousal, her sweet scent and the taste of her kisses were going to make him tip over long before he wanted. He closed his eyes tight and buried his face in her hair.

“Look at me, Jean,” she whispered, squeezing around him so deliciously tight he groaned.

He opened them again and she ghosted her lips against his. She gripped the back of his neck and moaned at his quickening pace. She nodded and dug her fingers in his ass.

Her eyes were expressive – in the last few years after his wife’s passing, he had know passion, lust, and perhaps even something that could’ve been love. But he saw his whole world in Viv’s eyes as he rolled deep inside her. He whimpered and tried to stop, make it last, but she kissed his cheek, his temple, and caressed up his back.

He wanted to burst, but he needed to feel her buck and writhe around his cock. Suddenly, his need trumped being gentle and he thrust quick and deep inside her. She gasped and wrapped her legs around his hips, whispering and moaning in his ear. This was heaven. Lovely, thick, heaven-

“Come for me, little one,” he said in her ear and licked the lobe. “Please.”

“Hard-“she said, and grunted. “Harder.”

He gathered her into his arms and slammed into her, his brow furrowed with pleasure. Her body, hot and tight and eager, was going to best him. This time, she softly whispered his name before bursting into fresh cries as she bucked beneath him, greedily grinding her hips against his to extend her orgasm. He slowed as she fluttered around him.

“Don’t stop, mon chéri. I want to see your bliss,” she said, looking at him with unabashed adoration.

Mon chéri. Her darling. The scent of hot skin and violets filled his senses, and with a groan, he let his orgasm roll over his heart. She caressed him as he whimpered and twitched inside her, coaxing him deeper with her legs.

He lay on top of her and waited to his heart to slow. He was drained, but he didn’t feel empty anymore. He rolled off her, pulled the damp sheet around them, and hugged her tightly. She wrapped her arms around him and sighed contentedly, and before he knew it, he drifted into sleep.

* * *

He woke suddenly, and his heart hammered in his chest. The vague images of blue black steel and imminent danger faded from him and he sat up, disoriented.

He was at the country estate. The window was open, and he was cold. He pulled the heavy sheet over him and looked around at the lengthening shadows. Night had fallen. As he shifted position, the scent of lovemaking wafted to him. But he was alone.

He rolled out of bed and rubbed his eyes. Even though Viv’s perfume clung to him, what happened felt like a happy dream. A fantasy to ease his loneliness. He pulled on a worn red silk robe and walked to the bathroom to relieve himself.

Had she gone? He flushed and walked into the den. Her damp knickers were like a red flag on the woodblock. Had she left without them-

“Jean,” she yelled from the kitchen. He heard something clank, and finally, the scent of cooking wafted to him. He darted to her and swept her in his arms, and kissed her deeply.

“Never met a military man who was such a sleepy head,” she said, smiling brightly at him. “You drifted right off, and stayed asleep for hours.”

“I’m a terrible insomniac,” he said, shrugging.

“I don’t think you know what that word means,” she said, kissing the tip of his nose and turning back to the range. He stared at her as she chopped herbs and a few wilted carrots and tipped them into the pot. “The stew’s almost done. Fernando came by earlier and dropped off a plump rabbit. I hope you don’t mind if I nosed around in your kitchen,” she said, wiping her hands on his discarded dress shirt, the only thing she wore.

“Fernand was here?” he said, looking her up and down. She looked absolutely delectable. Although his stomach rumbled at the savory smells, he wanted to take her back to bed. Now.

“He didn’t stop. He just dropped the skinned rabbit on the stoop and yelled for you. I took the liberty of cooking it.”

“I thought you hated cookery,” he said, wrapping his arms around her.

“A woman’s gotta eat,” she said. “And a man fucked into near starvation doesn’t appreciate a woman who can’t cook.” She winked.

“You have a filthy mouth,” he said, and kissed her slowly. He pulled her to sit on his lap and they kissed, unhurried. He tucked her hair behind her ear.

“Will you stay the night?” he said, his hand already moving up her thigh. She stopped it, and shook her head.

“Again, I don’t want to worry mama and papa,” she said, and stood to stir the pot.

“You won’t. I’ll drive over there myself and tell them I plan on stealing you away. For as long as you’ll allow it.”

“Have you no shame, Jean?” she said, sitting back down on his lap. “They’ll think you’ve gone mad.”

“I feel perfectly fine. Completely lucid,” he said, giving her butterfly kisses from her cheekbone to her temple. “You being here takes all the menace from this place. We’re young, and in love, and nothing matters but each other.”

When she smiled, lines formed at the corners of her eyes. “Oh, Jean. You know better than that. The ugliness has found us already.” She pressed her forehead against his.

“I’ll protect you and your family from it. You have my word,” he said, holding her close.

“I refuse to put you in further danger-“

“I will not have you alone and unsafe-“

“I’m taking my parents to the States,” she said, cutting him off.

“You’re going to America. Again?” he said. “But, you were lost to me there. Am I to see you again in yet another decade?” His chest burned.

“Perhaps. And by what’s beginning to happen, that might be the best case scenario,” she said, and moved the pot from the flame.

“I don’t want to lose you again,” he said. “It took over 20 years to get you here, with me. What happens now?”

“I leave in a week. I’ve already made the arrangements, and we all have our papers sorted. All I ask is that you not tell a soul.”

“But what of you?” he said.

“God willing, we will be fine. Or not. But anything is better than waiting for death in these woods.”

He tucked his face into her neck and let the reality of the situation sink in. Of course she was leaving. It was only sane thing to do. Sometimes he wished he could go, far away, but his responsibilities inexorably pulled him back into the fray.

“You said you have a week. Please tell me this isn’t the only time I’ll see you. I’ll drive you and your parents anywhere you need. But let’s not part now. Please.”

She caressed him, rubbing her thumb against the five o' clock shadow that peppered his chin. His eyes shone with earnestness, and it made her want to weep. She loved him. She always had, and she always would, no matter who else took up space in her heart. Maybe, after so long, it wasn’t too much to ask to share a little beauty before everything burst into flames.

“Tonight, we’ll share the stew, and linger at this table over wine and a solitary candle. Then, you’ll take me back to your bed and make love to me, then we'll talk in whispers until we fall asleep again. We can worry about tomorrow then. Is that a deal?

“Yes,” he said.

She kissed him tenderly, then ladled stew into the bowls.


End file.
